


Love Is Not Enough

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Heterosexual John, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sad Ending, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock’s unrequited love for John turns him suicidal John makes the ultimate sacrifice to keep his best friend alive, but is it enough? NOT A HAPPY FIC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Not Enough

 

 

 

The first time they kissed it was Sherlock who initiated it.

They had just solved a case in which both of them had been held at gunpoint for over an hour before Lestrade finally rolled in and pulled them out. It was a bit embarrassing, especially since he told them off as though they were naughty primary school boys. Still, it had been a successful case in the end and John and Sherlock had headed home with a spring in their steps and laughter on their lips. Then out of nowhere it had been Sherlock’s lips on John’s lips instead of laughter and he simply froze in shock. Sherlock apparently took that as approval and pressed him against the hall wall, snogging him senseless. When his hands strayed from the wall to John’s hip and his tongue prodded for entrance, John lurched back to awareness and shoved him away.

“What…?” Sherlock startled, so John chinned him just to get the point across, though not very hard and he still avoided both teeth and nose.

Sherlock staggered against the opposite wall, not floored but still injured, though by the look on his face his pride has suffered a harder blow than his cheek.

“ _Not gay_ , Sherlock. We’ve been mates for years now, what part of ‘not gay’ did you miss?”

“But…”

“Not. Gay.” John would have liked to storm upstairs at this point, but Sherlock was a self-professed sociopath and he _needed_ to make sure he got the point before something worse than this happened.

Something flickered behind Sherlock’s eyes, something John couldn’t quite name but that on another person might have been sadness, then understanding dawned and he frowned in an attempt to look contrite.

“Right. Well. I beg your pardon, then.” Sherlock stated.

John gave that a nod and finally allowed his anxious legs to carry him upstairs. He went straight for his bedroom to cool off, rubbing at his forehead and pacing a bit in concern for what this would bring on the marrow, before heading back downstairs to get ready for bed. Sherlock was nowhere in sight. The next morning they both pretended nothing happened and it was a full month before John even thought of it again.

XXXXXXXXXXX

One month to the day after Sherlock’s snog found John tied to a chair with a bomb strapped to his torso. He was sweating and trying not to shake, but the fear really was unbearable. His mind shot back and forth from various reasons he urgently wanted to live.

_I haven’t gotten a leg over in nearly a year._

_Sherlock will blow up the flat if I’m not there._

_Lestrade said I keep Sherlock under wraps; he’ll drive NSY nuts without me._

_Sherlock will get himself killed if I’m not around._

John realized his last three thoughts had been Sherlock-focused and tried for something less tuned in to the damaged detective.

  _I haven’t gotten a leg over in nearly a year… and doesn’t that just sum up my entire fucking life_ _lately?_

Behind the ranting bomber, John saw a shadow flicker and quickly kept his attention on the madman.

“Why, though?” He asked, trying to sound baffled. He knew why. Sherlock had explained the man’s motives earlier that day… not three hours before John stupidly got caught while chasing the man’s accomplice (well, chasing Sherlock who was chasing the man’s accomplice) down a dark and particularly filthy alley.

“It’s time for the bourgeoisie to relinquish their grasp on the people of England! Too long have we been oppressed! Too long have we been forced to perform the most degrading of tasks because we were the lowly born! Too long…”

A shovel blade came down on the man’s skull and Sherlock straightened up from his crouch on the floor.

“Too long have you been rambling on, you preposterous attempt at Robin Hood.”

“Bout time, Sherlock, get me out of this!”

Sherlock strode forward and then halted, studying the mechanism attached to John’s torso.

“This is a great deal more sensitive than what Moriarty had you in. You have to hold completely still, John.”

“Hurry it, I think I’m concussed. I’m feeling ill.”

Sherlock gave him a worried look and crossed to the bomber’s tools, pulling out wire cutters and a pair of scissors. He sat still, studying the device, before slowly moving a few wires about, lifting them and studying where they connected.

“Maybe,” John suggested, as his stomach tried to heave, “bomb squad?”

“They’ll take too long and you’re looking decidedly green.”

Sherlock snipped a wire and John stopped breathing in sheer terror. Nothing happened, including the ceasing of the bomb’s ticking clock. Sherlock snipped another wire and an equal amount of nothing happened, though John’s stomach did lurch and his vision blurred a bit.

“Sherlock…”

“One moment longer, John, hang on.”

Sherlock carefully fiddled with the clock and then gently began snipping the duct tape off of him with a pair of scissors. Finally the vest and John were both loose and Sherlock carefully lifted it off of John’s body before whispering for him to lean forward. John did, gratefully leaning his head on Sherlock’s chest and taking great gulps of air as the detective lowered the vest to sit on the chair back behind him as though it were a pair of shoulders. Sherlock’s now free hands came gently around John, one resting on the small of his back and the other on the back of his head.

“Steady?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you move?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you walk?”

“Not sure on that one.”

“We should get out of here, just in case. Lean on me, I’ll get you to hospital and they can take a look at that goose egg.”

John let Sherlock all but carry him out of the car park the madman had been planning on bombing (along with John) and they hit the ground floor in time to see panda wagons pull up in force.

“He’s upstairs!” Sherlock called, “So is the bomb, though! I think it’s disabled, but better safe than sorry.”

Lestrade and John gaped at Sherlock with equal parts horrified, but Sherlock ignored them both.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“What did you just say?” John asked. He was tugging on his clothes and Sherlock was speaking to him from behind the curtain at the hospital he’d spent the night in after having been beaten over the head and then trussed up in a bomb.

“I said you’re going to have to find a new flat.”

John had his trousers up and his shirt mostly on, so he tugged the curtain open, regretting it when Sherlock’s eyes flew to his chest and he flinched away from the sight of John’s bare skin.

“Is that why?” John asked.

“Partly, I’ll admit that my attraction to you is more than a bit uncomfortable given our living arrangements, but that’s hardly my only reasoning.”

“Do I get to hear the rest of this so called sound reasoning?”

“I never said it was sound.”

“Sherlock!”

“I don’t want to see you hurt, there, you see? Completely unsound and firmly based in _sentiment_.” Sherlock snapped in disgust.

“I can just as easily get hurt in my own flat, in fact most accidents happen in the home…”

“Getting strapped to a bomb is hardly an accident and I’ve lost count how many times it’s happened since we’ve known each other. You were arguably safer in Afghanistan. Without my company you will be safer still.”

It hit John then. This wasn’t just ‘move out I need my space to pine for you’, this was ‘we’re not mates anymore’.

“No more cases? No more… whatever it was we do other than cases?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You can’t do this. You just…”

“I believe I can. I’ve found a flat for you in your price range; it doesn’t have a lease on it so you can move in any time. Bit of a dump, but I’m afraid that can’t be avoided with only your army pension as salary. Of course, you’ve earned a fair bit of the money I’ve got tucked away; I used that to put a down payment on the flat and transferred the rest to you. If you’re sparing you’ll be quite comfortable until you can get a proper job.”

“Oh, cheers, and I suppose you packed up my things, too, did you?”

The look on his face said everything.

“You bastard. You did, didn’t you?”

“Lestrade helped, and Mrs. Hudson. Here’s the address. Goodbye John.”

Sherlock turned on his heels and breazed out of the room the way he would if he were headed towards a case, but he wasn’t headed towards one- as far as John new- he was just headed away. Away from his collegue. Away from his only friend. Away from the person who kept him in line and out of trouble.

_I should be relieved. I should shrug my shoulders and be rid of him._

It wasn’t that simple, though, and a week later when Lestrade called on him without notice the first words out of his mouth were to ask about Sherlock.

“He’s piss poor, actually, which is why I’m here. You’ve got to move back, or at least take cases with him again. He’s going to get himself killed! I’ve never seen him so reckless.” Lestrade shouldered his way into John’s economy flat and turned to face him since there was no room to pace as he clearly wanted to do.

“It’s not that I…”

“He’s practically suicidal, John, I’m not joking here. I get it didn’t work out between you two, I mean no one really expected it to last this long.”

“We weren’t…”

“I understand if you don’t want a relationship with him anymore, but, for the love of sanity, the work you at least enjoyed. You can enjoy it again, just put your foot down with him like you usually do and I’m sure he’ll come to heel. You always had a way with him.”

“He tossed _me_ out, Greg.”

“If you just… wait, what?”

“He tossed me out, and before you continue, we were just flatmates. Sherlock wanted more and I shot him down. A month later he decided that wasn’t acceptable and tossed me on my ear. He refuses to work cases with me because he can’t stand to see me hurt, apparently.”

“This… it wasn’t your idea to move out?”

“Hell, no, I’m bored out of my mind, Greg! I’m climbing the bloody walls!”

“We… we could bring you on as another consultant, throw you two together? You know he likes his routine, he’ll probably jump at it.”

“Yes, fine. Do that.”

Sherlock stormed out of NSY the second he laid eyes on John and refused to answer his mobile for a week. Lestrade finally had Mrs. Hudson let him in to make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid. He had. He was lying in a pool of his own sick, dehydrated and barely conscious.

“Drug overdose,” Lestrade explained quietly outside of Sherlock’s hospital room, “He’s alive and going to recover, but he won’t see you. I thought you should know anyway.”

“Is this because of me? Because I popped up on him?”

“No idea. Doctor said he’s been using again for a bit, about since you moved out.”

“Fuck.”

“Hard, yeah.” Lestrade agreed, rubbing at his face.

“I guess I should stay away…” John muttered, but Lestrade just shrugged helplessly.

With little left to do they both went out drinking and crashed at Lestrade’s place.

The next night John went out drinking alone.

When a week had passed and he’d wandered between occasional interviews and drunk the entire time he decided that he needed to do something or go mad. He phoned Lestrade who told him Sherlock had checked himself out of rehab two days before. He headed over to Baker Street and pounded on the door until Sherlock gave in and opened the door for him. He pushed the man the rest of the way through and slammed him against the wall in the hallway.

He pressed his lips firmly to Sherlock’s tasting tea and something definitively Sherlock. Sherlock groaned and clutched at him, and John deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue in and out of Sherlock’s mouth until the detective was a panting mess. He could feel his erection pressed against his leg so he reached down, slipped his hand inside, and stroked it firmly. He could tell immediately that it wasn’t going to take long.

“Fuck!” Sherlock cried out, his head slamming against the wall.

“That’s the idea,” John growled and Sherlock’s eyes rolled back as he gasped in pleasure, just barely stopping himself from tumbling over the edge by grasping and stilling John’s arm.

“Bedroom!” Sherlock panted, and John slipped his hand free, forcing a grin onto his face, and tugged the detective after him. They staggered into the flat, groping and snogging like teenagers, and practically fell onto Sherlock’s bed.

John was sliding down to his knees, and Sherlock gave him a shocked look before bringing a hand to his mouth and biting it to hold off his orgasm once again.

_I’m deceiving him… No. I’m keeping him alive_.

John tugged Sherlock’s trousers open and slipped his cock out of his pants before reaching for his own trousers. He was, of course, completely unaroused, but he had to pull this off anyway. He pretended to stroke himself with one hand while wrapping the other around Sherlock’s prick and lowering his mouth around the head. He closed his eyes, just in case some of the revulsion he felt showed through, and began to bob, suck, and lick in the manor he preferred himself serviced.

_My god, I’m servicing my best friend just so he doesn’t kill himself. The fuck did my life end up this way?_

John sped up, moaning as though this were the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. The moan must have done it because Sherlock’s hand suddenly gripped his hair painfully and he shouted out his climax. John swallowed the bitter substance down, if only because he didn’t want to be a hypocrite, and then rested his head on Sherlock’s thigh as he pretended to grunt his way through his own orgasm.

_Now let’s see if the most observant man in the world can stay that way after an orgasm. If he can, I’m fucked in a completely different way._  

“That was…” Sherlock seemed unable to finish and John merely nodded as he lay panting with his head still on Sherlock’s cloth covered thigh.

He pretended to wipe his hand on the inside of his trousers, making a face as he did, and then clamored up onto the bed to collapse beside Sherlock. Sherlock shifted then, sitting up and staring down at John with a frown on his face.

“You’re supposed to be cheerful and relaxed,” John scolded.

“I would be, if I weren’t confused as to where this came from.”

“I… I wasn’t expecting what it would be like to be away from you,” John looked away as he flushed miserably. He was a terrible liar, but he hoped that something this close to the truth would pass the grade, “I realized how important you were to me.”

“It was horrible, wasn’t it?” Sherlock agreed immediately.

“A bit, yes.”

Sherlock tugged at John’s arm and he sat up obediently.

“A nap and then we move you back in,” Sherlock stated pulling out the blankets before frowning at the sticky mess on his stomach, “After a shower.”

Sherlock was ready to go again the second the hot water hit them and John had to play it off as he stroked the man fast and hard, holding him against his chest.

“I’m not as young as you, Sherlock,” John teased, kissing his back and shoulder.

“S’alright. S’fine. S’good. Mmmmmm.”

John chuckled at that response, “I like you inarticulate like this.”

“Joooooohnn!” Sherlock came as spectacularly the second time as the first and John couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous. He’d had sex for the first time in ages and hadn’t been able to get off once.

They collapsed into Sherlock’s bed, and John got to experience being the little spoon for the first time in his life. This part, at least, wasn’t so bad. It was nice to be held by someone, and being the little spoon meant he didn’t have to worry about his arm falling asleep on him. Sherlock was soon deep asleep at his back, and while John was initially unnerved by the breath at his neck, he soon adjusted and relaxed for the first time in weeks.

They had a case the next day and John cheerily followed Sherlock out the door and into New Scotland Yard, which caused a stir and a round of welcomes. It seemed Lestrade’s statement that Sherlock was being impossible hadn’t been exaggerated. While Sherlock looked over the case file and peered in the evidence bags, Lestrade tugged John aside under the pretense of getting him coffee.

“So, you boys got it sorted, then? How did you manage to get him out of spoiled toddler mode?”

“The only way you ever get Sherlock out of spoiled toddler mode, I gave him what he wanted.”

Lestrade blinked, and his grin faded a bit, but he still clung to it doggedly, “So you’re facing up to it then? Finally willing to admit you’ve got a thing for him, eh?”

“No, Greg, I’m just giving him what he wants,” John had no idea why he was telling Lestrade this, he certainly hadn’t planned to. If anything, he had planned to play off that he was finally coming out of the closet, but suddenly he wanted to tell someone the truth: if only to see their reaction.

“Then you’re not…?”

“No. Not gay.”

Lestrade’s grin was completely gone now, and replaced by a look of horror as he took in John’s purposely-blank face.

“Then you just…?”

“Slept with him, yeah.”

“Are you… Fuck, are you alright?”

“A bit not, but I’m coping.”

“He’s not actually all right with this, I mean not even _he_ could be alright with just… bending you over and…”

“Could we not?”

“Sorry, mate, it’s just…”

“Look, he doesn’t know, all right? I faked it.”

“What, faked an orgasm.”

“Yeah, I faked it.”

“This is Sherlock Holmes, we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, well don’t suck him off before you give him a case, it throws his deduction skills off.”

Lestrade blinked and turned away for a moment, apparently composing himself as he rubbed a hand across his face and prepared the promised coffee.

“You can’t do this,” He stated when he turned back around.

“I already have.”

“Well it has to stop.”

“He’ll go round the bend again.”

“Yeah, and what about you? What do we all do when you start to go round the bend?”

“I won’t. I’ll be fine.”

“He’s going to cotton on, he’ll figure it out at some point.”

“I’ve got that figured out,” John explained, leaning against the wall and folding his arms defensively, “After the war I had some… trouble. PTSD, you know? The shock? I had pills prescribed to me, and I’ve still got them. If Sherlock get’s to questioning I just pull out that bottle and explain to him it’s still a problem. I can use the pills, too, if I have to, though I’d rather not. I’d prefer not to have to… experience that part of it.”

“What, get off during sex? Yeah, I can see what you mean. Better avoid that at all costs,” Lestrade replied sarcastically.

They stared each other down, John stubborn and glaring, Lestrade worried and trying to find words.

“Shit,” Lestrade huffed, turning away from him to pour the coffee into mugs, “Let me know if you need anything. A night out. A prostitute. Whatever.”

“Thanks,” John said with a light laugh and accepted his cup from the reticent man.

XXXXXXXXXX

The case solved found John and Sherlock snogging in the hallway once more, their eager movements taking them upstairs to strip each other bare and topple into bed. John’s discussion with Lestrade had him convinced he would do better to play the impotence angle, and with that resolved it helped him relax a great deal. So he let himself go and thought up every sexy scenario in his mind while Sherlock eagerly stroked his hardening cock. It wasn’t long before John found himself pressed back on the bed with an eager Sherlock tugging a tube of lube from the bedside drawer.

They both froze, staring at it, and Sherlock went a bit pale before trying to put it back.

“No, it’s fine. I’m ready. Here.” John wriggled about and got on hands and knees and Sherlock eagerly slicked up his own cock. “No! Wait! You have to prepare me first. You’ll never fit otherwise. Start with one finger, work it up to three.”

“Right, of course.” Sherlock breathed, following John’s instructions.

The first finger felt odd, and he sucked in his breath at the unfamiliar intrusion.

The second burned a bit and he tensed until Sherlock scolded him.

The third hurt a bit, but he felt himself committed so he breathed out and relaxed again.

Sherlock pumped his hand a bit, then whispered to him unexpectedly, “You have no idea how gorgeous you look like this.”

John felt himself flush, but this time it wasn’t with shame or disgust. A compliment was a compliment, and one from Sherlock Holmes was rare indeed.

His erection had flagged, but Sherlock didn’t notice at all. He was too busy pressing inside of John, his breath coming in sharp pants. John gritted his teeth through the slow glide in, wincing on occasion, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. When he was fully inside Sherlock stopped before John could ask him to.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, the tone reverent.

When Sherlock pulled out and slid back in again his motions where slow, the man clearly trying to hold himself back, but they were also spot on and John groaned as his prostate was stimulated for the first time by another man.

“Not good?” Sherlock gasped, his voice ragged with restraint.

“Good,” John panted, “Very good. Hit that again, yeah?”

John forgot what Sherlock was like when given a goal. The detective pulled most of the way out, aimed for that spot and focused on it with the single-mindedness that he gave his cases. John was soon hard again, and took quick advantage of it by grasping his cock. The pull on his shoulder was too much, though, and he ended up dropping down to rest his face on the mattress as he tugged on himself in a desperate chase for release.

“Oh, god, John!” Sherlock cried out, and John gasped as he felt the entirely confusing sensation of Sherlock’s cock pulsing out a hot release into his body. The stimulation was so close to his sensitive prostate that it threw him over the edge and he came hard, crying out in surprise at the rush of pleasure.

Sherlock pulled out with an audible pop and they both collapsed onto the bed, trying to catch their breath.

_We should probably have worn condoms_. John’s brain supplied, catching up to him a bit too late for his own good.

“Sher, this is probably bad timing…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right. Sherlock, when you use, are the needles clean?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“I trust you are also disease free?”

“Oh, yeah, tested after my last partner.” _Ages ago_.

“Good. Thai?”

“Definitely.”

XXXXXXXXXX

The newness wore off after the second go round and John found himself struggling to maintain an erection. Sherlock didn’t notice at first, but after a couple of weeks he suggested they switch positions.

“I’d rather be on the bottom, actually. It just fits better, what with you being taller.”

“That’s not true,” Sherlock stated, and pulled a fucking Homosexual Kama Sutra off the bookshelf, “See this position? Your height wouldn’t matter.”

“Why don’t we try it on you first?” John purred, trying to look seductive as he palmed Sherlock’s crotch.

It worked and they toppled into bed with the intention for John to bottom, but once more he remained flaccid. This time, however, Sherlock noticed.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock panted, stilling in his movements.

“Nothing,” John panted, continuing to ride Sherlock’s hard on, “Mmmm, you’re so big.”

“I’m aware of that, but at the moment you’re not.”

John stilled, fully aware the jig was up, and threw himself into plan B.

“Fucking hell!” John snapped, slipping off of Sherlock and scrambling off the bed.

He grabbed his robe and headed for the bathroom at full tilt, letting all his embarrassment at the situation show through. He got to the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it and leaning against it as he gulped air and tried not to panic. He’d planned this. Everything he had to say was the truth. He just had to stick to the truth and Sherlock would never know.

“John?” Sherlock called, testing the knob and realizing it was locked, “Are you alright?”

“Fine!” John snapped, trying to sound angry.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, Sherlock. I’m fine, just… go fiddle with some dead body parts or something!”

Silence for a moment and then, “I’m confused. Perhaps you could explain? I’ve mentioned before this sort of thing really isn’t my area. Are you angry because of what I said, embarrassed because of what happened, or un-attracted to me?”

“Yes!”

“Yes… to all three?” Sherlock asked, his voice shaky.

“No! Yes! Fuck! It’s not what you think!”

“Would it help if I informed you I was not referring to your genital size in a disparaging manor?”

John couldn’t help the weak laugh that left him at that.

“It’s quite lovely, actually,” Sherlock continued, “From what… decidedly little you’ve let me see of it… Are you ashamed of your body, John? Because you shouldn’t be, you’re quite above average physically speaking for someone of your height, age, and social status…”

“Sherlock, could we not do this?”

“You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, I feel compelled to do _something_.”

“You want to do something? Fine. Go into my nightstand and read the medicine bottle in there. Then enjoy your deduction.”

John listened to Sherlock’s footsteps retreat, heard the drawer open, listened anxiously to the gaping silence on the other end, then heard the drawer slam shut and wedge part way. Sherlock must have kicked it a few times after that. Then there was silence for a moment before Sherlock returned.

“John, these are expired.”

“I don’t like taking them, they make me feel weird.”

“Have you?”

“Not in years, no, I’ve just… gone without,” Honest answer, though it was from a lack of feminine interest rather than him avoiding the pills.

“Well, don’t, they could harm you at this point.”

Sherlock walked away then, apparently deciding the matter was resolved and John took a shower to give himself something to do and wash the sticky lube off of his body. When he emerged Sherlock was on the internet, apparently looking up a solution for him.

“There are several options, have you only tried the one?”

“I’d rather just keep bottoming, Sherlock. I could get a strap on, maybe?”

Sherlock blinked at him in apparent confusion, “You’d rather go without any type of physical gratification, continuing to engage in unsatisfactory sex with me, even to the point of using sex toys, all to avoid taking a pill once in a while?”

“I don’t like how they make me feel.”

“Another pill might not have the same side effects.”

“It’s not the side effects, Sherlock, I don’t like forcing it, and it feels wrong. Look, I like to be with you physically, it’s wonderful that we share that. I like pleasing you. I don’t need anything else.”

“John,” Sherlock fiddled with a napkin on the table, looking a bit lost, “I realize you usually don’t see me showing any kind of interest in you, or other individuals, but I’m not nearly as selfish as you apparently think I am. I do want to give you pleasure, too.”

“I appreciate that, Sherlock, and I especially appreciate you telling me that, because you’re right – I didn’t know. This is still my body and my decision, though, and I won’t take any pills. If it helps, I do get off sometimes, just not most times.”

“Is there… Should I…”

“There’s nothing different you could be doing, Sherlock, it’s not you. It’s me.” That couldn’t be truer if John swore on his life first.

“What if… you saw that therapist again? Or a new one? Will you do that?”

John smiled at the glimmer of concern in Sherlock’s eyes, “Yeah, I’ll do that Sherlock. For you, I’ll do that.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took a month for John to notice that Sherlock hadn’t initiated sex with him since their last failed attempt, and it wasn’t until he heard him wanking in the shower that he realized it. He immediately grabbed Sherlock’s phone and stepped into the steam.

“I think you have a… Oh! Well, what do we have here?” John asked, turning his voice sultry.

“John… I…” Sherlock’s hand had stilled on his cock but that didn’t stop John from stripping down and slipping into the shower with him.

John dropped to his knees and Sherlock’s hands fell away with an eager moan. He barely had the man in his mouth before he was spurting out his release, his voice a strangled cry of John’s name.

“Thinking of me, were you?” John purred as he nuzzled Sherlock’s sensitive bits.

“Yessss,” Sherlock hissed, then dropped down as well, “Stand up.”

“Sherlock, you don’t have to…”

“I’m going to at least try. _Stand up!”_

John stood and immediately pictured the last time Sarah had done this for him; he focused on it to the exclusion of all else, trying to enjoy Sherlock’s enthusiastic, and admittedly skillful fellatio. It didn’t take long for him to get hard this time, he hadn’t exactly had time to wank himself with them sharing a room. Soon he was panting and moaning, his hand tangled in Sherlock’s curls as the man used one hand and what felt like his _entire_ mouth to greedily suck and lick him to completion.

John cried out as he climaxed, his hips pumping frantically, and then leaned against the shower stall for support as he waited for his vision and hearing to return.

“Well, you see?” John laughed, “I’m not entirely broken, just a bit worn down. Yeah?”

“So it would seem, though I suppose picturing Sarah had more to do with it,” Sherlock stated before stepping out of the shower and snatching up a towel.

“What?” John asked, his entire body turning cold despite the hot shower, “Come on now, Sherlock, I don’t know what your powers of deduction are telling you now, but I swear you’re the only person on my mind.”

“You’re a terrible liar, John, especially when you’ve just shouted someone else’s name during sex.”

Sherlock fled the room, and the pain in his voice stabbed through John’s heart.

“Sherlock, wait! It’s not what you think!” John chased him into his bedroom where he was aggressively toweling off his hair.

“Really? Because I think you were picturing Sarah sucking you off,” Sherlock snarled, tossing the towel on the floor and snatching up his housecoat.

“Well, then it is _what_ you think, but it’s not _why_ you think,” John insisted, blocking him from leaving the bedroom.

“Really? Because I think it was because you’re _not gay_ ,” Sherlock spat the words at John and he flinched.

“I can’t change that, Sherlock. I tried, I honestly did…”

“You _lied_ to me! I don’t know what pisses me off more, that you thought it was fine to do so, or that you succeeded!”

“I just wanted you to be happy, and you seemed to need me in order to be happy…”

“I’m supposed to be the self-centered one, John. It doesn’t suit you,” Sherlock shoved John out of the way and stomped into the living room where he started throwing things about in a full out tantrum.

“I do love you, Sherlock. I just can’t be attracted to you. Isn’t that enough?”

“No!” Sherlock snarled, and threw a book at him.

“Don’t! Hey!” John ducked and weaved until he managed to get across the room and tackle Sherlock to the couch where he struggled and kicked angrily until John managed to pin his arms and legs.

“Listen,” John pleaded, “Just listen. Delete this. I know you can so don’t look at me like that. We can go back to the way we were. I do love you. I do. I’ll _learn_ to lust after you. It’s just a matter of time. That’s all. Alright? That’s all. Time.”

Sherlock stilled his thrashing and studied John’s face, “You’re sincere. You’re willing to spend your entire life with me just to keep me happy, despite the fact you get nothing from it.”

“Not nothing; something, just not the something you do.”

“What, then, John? Explain it to me.”

“You… you give me a reason to get up every day.”

John released Sherlock then, pulling away and sitting on the couch facing the fireplace. He couldn’t look Sherlock in the eye after saying that.

“As do you, but I clearly enjoy it a great deal more than you do.”

“Perhaps, but I still don’t want to stop. I’m sorry if you feel ill used or thought of. You are handsome, very handsome, you’re just lacking tits and a snatch,” John laughed bitterly.

“Well, perhaps I’ll get a job done and fit your perfect image of me,” Sherlock snipped sourly.

“I’m sorry. I feel I’ve let you down.”

“You have, in more ways than you’ll ever understand, John,” Sherlock stood up and paced the room a moment, before making a decision, “Go and stay with Lestrade a bit. I need time.”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’ll hurt yourself.”

Sherlock’s eyes said it all; it was exactly what he was going to do.

“You can’t watch me forever, John.”

“I can try. Maybe while I am I’ll finally see what I need to in order to give you what you need.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It was two years later. John and Sherlock had lived together the entire time, fighting off and on and making up as well. Their relationship was platonic at first, but soon turned intimate again as John insisted over and again that he was willing; John occasionally even enjoyed it. Sherlock still glared and became irrationally jealous whenever he caught John glance aside at a woman, found porn on his computer, or witnessed a woman coming on to him. John would spend entire hours consoling him and reminding him that he was with _Sherlock_ and it was going to stay that way. Most times it ended with rather passionate sex, for both of them.

John had relaxed, that had been his first mistake. He had gotten used to Sherlock’s ready smile and the way they laughed together. He had steadily begun to leave him alone for bits at a time until he forgot entirely that there was a reason not to. Which was why it was such a shock when he came back from doing the groceries one day to an entirely too quiet flat.

“Sherlock? Where’ve you gone off to?” John called, “Lestrade texted about a case and…”

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch, sleeve rolled up, eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling, with a needle protruding from his arm. The rubber band was still tied off around his arm and John yanked it off with a sob before feeling for a pulse even though he knew it was far too late. Sherlock was gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Lestrade pushed his way through the other officers, snarling at them when they told him he shouldn’t be there. They were having trouble getting John away from Sherlock’s body and Lestrade intended to be there. When he finally made it in the scene was the same he’d been dreading since he had first made the brilliant young man’s acquaintance. This was always fated to happen, but he had hoped with John at his side it would not.

“Oh, god, Sherlock,” Lestrade sighed, not bothering to hold back the tears. He leaned forward and gripped John’s shoulder, trying to pull him away from where he had his head resting on Sherlock’s stomach.

“Noooo,” John groaned, his voice agonized and rough from crying.

“Let’s go, John. Let them get him cleaned up.”

John shook his head and held on tighter.

“I should have taken the pills,” John sobbed, and Lestrade stilled, thinking they had almost had a double suicide on their hands.

“What pills, John?”

“I should have just taken the damn pills!” John screamed into Sherlock’s stomach instead of answering.

Lestrade remembered then, the conversation from years ago in which John had confessed to creating a fictitious sexual relationship with his flatmate to keep him from overdosing again.

“God, John, this whole time? You’ve been keeping it up this whole time?”

John broke down into sobs again, but finally lifted his head to look Lestrade in the eye.

“I did love him. I told him that. I told him I loved him, but it wasn’t enough. Why didn’t I just take the pills?”

The other officers had enough at that point and Lestrade was asked to leave as they pulled John away from Sherlock and into an awaiting ambulance. Lestrade thought it would take more than a weekend in a mental health ward to heal that broken man, and headed into Sherlock’s room to locate his unregistered firearm. At the very least he would make sure he only lost one of his friends.


End file.
